HUNTED!
by swifters
Summary: TEASER!- Joe didn't know how long he'd been running, Frank a deadweight over his shoulders. It was getting dark. His lungs were burning, his head spinning and his vision darkening. He had to keep going. He couldn't let them get caught. He slowed slightly to try his radio again. 'Blue 8 to Red leader. Blue 8 to Red leader, over.' Static was the only response. They were on their own.
1. Chapter 1

INTRODUCTION

WARNINGS- Swearing, violence, small amount of gore, major injury to main character. Some shooting of baddies by Hardys. Angst, Hurt/Comfort. Joe whumping fans- bear with me- it gets there. People who don't like Joe whumping... Sorry, you'll not like it.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT- Thanks to NC my former army medic colleague for his front line first aid info. The techniques described are not invented. The sat tracker is also as described.

This is a stand-alone short story (Thought about padding it out into a full-length adventure but I kinda like it like this…..) I wrote a couple of years ago after a very specific conversation with the above-mentioned colleague. You will most likely be able to guess the content of the part of the conversation that captured my imagination if you read this! The boys are in their 20's. Casefiles reality.

A note to the Guest reviewer who loves the homo-eroticism in my stories...That made me sit up! Not what I was going for at all! I see the brothers' relationship as a pure, unconditional bond entirely devoid of fleeting moments of attraction. However, if that's what you see, fair doos and glad you like it!

THE STORY- HUNTED!

CHAPTER 1- A NEW CHALLENGE

Joe Hardy couldn't keep still. Adrenaline was pumping through his body. His head buzzed with excitement, anticipation and the just the smallest amount of fear. His blond hair was concealed under his helmet. His bright blue eyes searched for Frank, his older brother. He found him, standing stock still nearby. Dark-haired, brown eyed and handsome, Frank was his best friend. Frank was staring into the middle distance. He was focused and ready for action.

To most people who knew them the picture would seem strange. The Hardys, clad in camouflage gear and dressed for combat, armed with rifles and sidearms. They were gathering together with fourteen other men, united in spirit and intention. Joe, excited and fidgety, itched to get going. Suddenly, he heard the whir of rotor blades and looked up. The helicopters had arrived. It was time.

...

Eight weeks earlier, Frank and Joe had arrived at Camp Vega. It was a ground troops training facility for the shadowy government agency known as 'The Network'. It was set in the stunning scenery of the Eastern Rocky Mountains in Wyoming. But they hadn't come for the view.

The brothers had been approached by Arthur Gray, a Network agent who they knew well. Through the years, they had worked with and for the Network on a number of occasions, although a general distrust of the motivations of the agency always prevented them from accepting Gray's repeated offers of permanent recruitment.

But this was different. Gray had offered them the chance to train with front line Network troops to enable them to work with a specialist unit when certain circumstances arose, rather than full time. The unit's function was specific and good by definition. They sent extraction teams to rescue hostages. Frank and Joe had recognised this offer as Gray's latest attempt to draw them into the fold by degrees, but this time they had been tempted.

After much soul-searching, Frank and Joe had decided to do it. They didn't see it as a career change. Working in the family detective agency was what they both wanted and would continue to do. But it was an opportunity to do _more. _To make a real difference to a few people. They had both been kidnapped in their time and understood the fear hostages would experience all too well.

There was an added draw. Gray had mentioned there would be a few upcoming operations specifically targeting persons held by the terrorist group known as 'the Assassins'. Frank and Joe had carried a personal grudge against them since they had murdered Joe's girlfriend, Iola Morton, with a car bomb eight years previously. It was too good to turn down.

Both the brothers' parents and their partners, Vanessa Bender and Callie Shaw, had been concerned, with good reason. But they knew them well enough to see they wouldn't be talked out of it and had eventually offered their resigned support. Frank and Joe had packed, kissed their girlfriends, and left with Gray, ready to start a new chapter in their lives.

...

The training had been hard. It was physically and mentally demanding. They were at the facility with six other new recruits from across the US. One of their trainers had been a welcome sight- Biff Hooper. Big, blond and boisterous, he was a childhood friend who had helped them with many cases in their teenage years. He had been recruited by the Network shortly after Iola had been killed and now was an experienced team leader. Although he was now hardened by action, his character still shone through. His dry wit had helped pull the Hardys and the six other new recruits through some of the greatest physical challenges they had faced.

From the start, the group had been divided into two teams- Red and Blue. Each team consisted of four recruits, three experienced personnel and a team leader. Frank and Joe were both in Blue Team. Biff was the team leader of Red Team. The teams were to stay as they were for their first few real-world missions. They had to get to know each other well- their lives would depend on one another. They had bonded well during the training and were all becoming firm friends.

The teams were put through innumerable mountain runs, hand-to-hand combat, tactical and firearms training before starting to work through a series of scenarios. Each was a faithful reconstruction of an incident actually dealt with by an extraction team in the past. The fledgling teams were placed in the situations and left to deal with them as though they were real. The scenarios were tough. The role-players shot blanks but hit for real and everyone took their fair share of knocks. It was necessary. When they were ready to hit the real world it would be no-holds-barred.

Frank had made the training extra hard on himself. He wanted to train as a team medic. It was still an armed role, but with the additional responsibility of providing front line first aid to any persons in the team who might be injured during a mission. The aim was to stabilise them enough to keep them going until they could be evacuated to the nearest field hospital. The brothers had both been trained in first aid before, but this was different.

Frank studied hard in their rest periods, determined to understand every injury he might encounter so stabilising it could become second nature.

He sat looking at his books one evening in the accommodation room they all shared. Joe was lying on his bunk, holding a pack of ice to his cheekbone. 'How's it feeling?' said Frank, glancing over at him.

'Not bad. Remind me to punch Biff in the face at the next available opportunity though.'

A chuckle came from a bunk on the other side of the room. It was Biff. 'What did you expect? A hug? I was being an evil arch-villain! You should have ducked!'

'Next time I'll just shoot you, Biff.' Joe said, grinning. He was loving the role-playing scenarios as much as Biff.

'Can you guys be quiet? I'm trying to study. I've got exams tomorrow.'

'Sorry Frank. What are you on? Want me to test you?'

'Sure, thanks.' Said Frank. He threw his textbook over to Joe.

Joe flicked through it in search of the goriest bits.

'OK, Frank. Bullet wounds. What do you do? Go!'

Frank shook his head. 'Joe, that's a very general question. It depends on the body part that's been hit, the nature and calibre of the weapon and the rate of bleeding. Be more specific please.'

Joe shut the book and looked over at Frank. 'OK. Shotgun. Head. Lots of blood.'

'I wouldn't be wasting my time. They would be dead. Try another.

'OK. Rifle same as ours, upper leg, loads of blood.'

'Priority is controlling blood loss. The things you could try would be applying pressure directly- with a pressure bandage or your hand- or indirectly over the nearest point where the affected artery crosses bone. Standing on that point with your foot works best. Or you could plug the wound. Or a combination of those things, of course.'

'Yuk. Dare I ask how you plug wounds?'

'Tampon.'

'WHAT?'

'I know, it's gross. You stuff it in the bullet hole. It expands and can actually stop the bleeding. We get issued with sterile ones. Not just straight out the supermarket.'

'Is there a picture?'

'Yes, page 175 or 176 I think.'

Joe opened the book again and turned to the pages. 'Now that is _properly _gross! Look, Biff. You seen that done?' Joe threw the book over to their friend.

Biff pulled a face 'Yeah. It's a bit grim. Often works though.'

'Understatement of the decade, Biff. No way would I want to do that.' said Joe, shuddering.

'Lucky you're not the medic then, Joe! Anyway, I'm well up with bullet wounds I think.' Said Frank. 'Try something else.'

Biff turned a few pages.

'Explosions. What about shrapnel wounds? OK Frank, big chunk of shrapnel sticking out of someone's chest. Moderate bleeding.'

'That could be interesting. Chests are complicated. There's the potential for what's called a pneumothorax or 'sucking wound'. I've just been looking at them. Air starts to gather in a pocket separating the lungs from the chest wall. The pressure can make it hard to breathe. It's different from a collapsed lung, although both can kill you because you just can't get enough oxygen.' Frank started going through emergency first aid options for different versions of the injury. Biff looked through the pictures in the book, pulling more faces, as he listened to Frank's detailed answer. Joe put out his hand. 'Let's see.' Biff threw the book back to him.

Joe looked at the images of horrific injuries people had suffered as a result of their proximity to explosions. Joe paled slightly as he involuntarily thought about Iola. He never had come to terms with what had happened to her all those years ago, but at least she had been killed outright. He couldn't bear to think of someone he loved suffering with an injury like that. He was suddenly glad he hadn't opted for the additional first aid training. He felt Frank's eyes on him and looked up. Frank was watching him as if he was reading his mind.

'What did you guys think of the scenario today?' Frank asked, changing the subject for his brother. Biff launched into a tirade about how he thought a wrong choice had been made at a key moment. Joe lay back and shut his eyes for a second. So much time had passed yet that day was never far from his mind. He didn't think it would affect him in the field. He hoped it wouldn't. Mentally shaking himself off, he leant back up on his elbow and joined in with the lively banter criss-crossing the room.

...

It was the last week of the course. The brothers were fitter than they had ever been before and had passed every element of the training. They were considered ready for action.

The eight new recruits, plus their team mates and team leaders were gathered together into a hall for a briefing. Frank and Joe noticed Agent Gray sitting at the front of the room.

The commanding officer of the facility addressed them. 'You've done well, men. All of you. You're ready. The good news is that we're ready for you. Your first mission starts tomorrow. Some of you know Agent Gray. He's going to brief you.

Agent Gray stood up in front of them. He plugged a laptop into the large TV screen on the wall at the front of the room. An image appeared of two teenage boys, both blond-haired. They were sitting together on a sun-soaked lawn, smiling broadly at the camera.

'These are Alan and Sam Hope, teenage sons of an American diplomat based in Eastern Europe. They are aged 17 and 18, they like football and dirt-biking and are thoroughly decent kids. They were kidnapped 6 weeks ago. A huge ransom has been demanded, but the decision has been made not to pay. They are being held here….' Gray moved on to a picture of what looked like a small fortress surrounded by trees '…by this man, Mick McGill….' an image of a middle aged man with dark hair, dark eyes and a range of tattoos came up. '…..He is British in origin and has worked as a mercenary all over the world. He is now branching out into drug trafficking and, apparently, kidnapping. We took out a large group in the area a year ago, McGill is an opportunist and has stepped into the power vacuum. He's still small-time, he doesn't have a big support network or anything approaching a personal army as yet. Having sad that, he has a fortified house in the middle of a vast expanse of woodland and some well-armed heavies. No heavy ordnance, nothing larger than a rifle. This is a perfect first mission. But you have to do it right. OK, back to Commander Brigs. Let's talk tactics.'

Frank and Joe exchanged a glance. It wasn't the assassins, but it was a good mission. _They had to get the boys out._

_..._

Joe ran and ran hard, rifle still in his hands. He was the last man out of McGill's stronghold. He had held off until the last moment, covering Red and Blue Teams as they retreated from the property, mission complete. Six enemy targets neutralised. Two male hostages extracted alive. It had all gone like clockwork. There had been no sign of McGill himself.

There was a mile between the property and the clearing in the forest that had been selected as the helicopter landing site. They were covering it fast. Joe could see Frank running two in front of him.

As he came into the clearing, Joe saw Red Team's helicopter taking off. The hostages would be on board. He could see Biff by the door. Joe jumped in to the second helicopter. He noticed Frank's worried face relax on seeing him. He nodded at him. Blue Team leader was counting them in the door. Joe heard his voice on their radio channel.

'Blue Team accounted for. Go go!'

He felt their helicopter begin to lift off. Joe sat back in his seat and closed his eyes. He felt relief, exhilaration and triumph. And a twinge of guilt. He had 'neutralised' two of those 'targets' personally. But it was the nature of the game. A necessary evil to save the boys. He could live with it. If he couldn't he had no business being there.

Suddenly there was a loud noise- an explosion? Joe felt the terrifying sensation of falling then everything went black.

...

As Red Team's helicopter lifted off, Biff Hooper watched out of the door. The chopper he was in had lifted off and was turning to head for safety. He glanced down at Blue Team's aircraft as it took off. And double-took- a Landrover was racing towards the landing site. There was a missile launcher on the back. A man stood behind it, trying to aim as the vehicle bounced along. Biff's jaw dropped in shock. McGill was _not _meant to have a missile launcher!

The man in the back of the Landrover fired and a missile streaked towards Blue Team's helicopter, taking out one of the main rotor blades. The helicopter dropped, spinning round 180 degrees in the process. It hit the ground, _hard _.

Red Team watched in horrified silence. The men in the Landrover didn't seem to have managed to re-load the missile launcher, resorting instead to small arms fire. Red Team's pilot risked circling round the downed aircraft. They could see movement on the opposite side of the helicopter from the Landrover. A single figure, hauling another figure away from the smouldering wreckage, then turning and staggering back. At that moment, an explosion tore through the wreckage, throwing the figure in the air.

'They've got the launcher re-loaded….' someone shouted.

They could afford to wait no longer. They had to complete the mission and return the hostages. Red Team turned and flew for safety.

Biff watched out of the door for as long as he could, then put his head in his hands. He had recognised those figures. It was Joe Hardy pulling his brother Frank away from the flames, before being tossed through the air like a rag doll.


	2. Chapter 2

HUNTED!

CHAPTER 2- JOE'S RUN

Joe came to, face down on the ground, spitting dirt and blood out of his mouth. Everything hurt. His wrist _really_ hurt. He felt hot. Very hot! He forced his eyes open, looking round behind him to identify the source of the heat.

A raging inferno. That would explain it! The events of the last few minutes rushed back to him and he looked around for his brother. He could make out a Frank-sized shape lying still on the ground in front of him. He needed to get Frank further from the fire. He pushed himself painfully to his feet, clutching his wrist to his chest. Every part of his body screamed in protest. He staggered over to his unconscious brother. Steeling himself against the pain in his wrist, he hauled Frank up over his shoulders into a fireman's lift, grunting with the effort. He began to trudge further from the heat, feeling every step. If he could get Frank to safety, he could go back, see if anyone else had survived.

As Joe reached the trees at the edge of the clearing he heard a loud 'crack' behind him. He turned around in time to see a second explosion rip through the wreckage. He staggered but managed to stay on his feet. He looked at the carnage in dazed disbelief. Flames shot high in the air and wreckage rained down across the clearing. No one else could be alive, he realised. He shut his eyes as his mind inevitably cast up an image of the explosion that had killed Iola eight years earlier. He'd fought with Frank that day, tried to run back into the flames to save her. Not today. His exhausted mind _knew _their friends were dead. All he could do was mourn them.

A noise jerked Joe out of his shocked reverie. A gunshot, the noise reverberating around the clearing, just audible over the roar from the fire. What was going on? For the first time, Joe remembered to wonder what had caused the helicopter to come down. He scanned the treeline around the clearing. And then he saw it. On the other side of the wreckage, shimmering in the heat haze, was a Landrover. Milling around it there was a group of men armed with rifles. One man was idly shooting into the inferno with a rifle. The others were just starting to fan out, presumably to search around the crash site. Joe looked up, searching the sky for the other helicopter. Nothing. They had gone.

Joe took two steps back and tripped on a branch, nearly falling. 'Shit, shit _shit!' _ he muttered. Then, holding onto Frank with his good arm, he turned and ran.

….

Joe didn't know how long he'd been running. It was getting dark. His lungs were burning, his head spinning and his vision darkening. He had to keep going. He couldn't let them get caught! Periodically, he had slowed slightly to try his radio.

'Blue 8 to Red leader. Blue 8 to Red leader, over?'

Static had been the only response. Eventually he had given up, channelling all his energy into putting as much distance as possible between them and the armed men. Now, Joe was spent. He tried to keep going but his feet hit a rock and he tumbled over, Frank falling from his shoulder.

Joe lay on the ground, looking up at the sky. He was fighting for breath and fighting to stay conscious. He tried to listen. Silence. Birds. No footsteps thundering behind them. No shouting. No guns firing. Had they got away? He looked over at Frank who was lying face-down in the dirt.

Joe dragged himself over to his brother and pushed him onto his side to face him. Joe realised with a jolt that he had never even stopped to check he was alive! He wasn't moving. His face was covered in blood which had come from a gash across his forehead, which was bruised and swollen. 'Frank?' he gasped. There was no response. Joe forced himself up onto his knees and pushed his brother over onto his back. 'Frank?' With shaking hands, he felt for his brother's pulse. It was there! He was alive! 'Oh thank God!'

Joe lay back down beside Frank, exhausted. He shut his eyes. This was not good. Chopper shot down in some random corner of Eastern Europe, friends dead, Frank injured, both of them left behind in a forest full of bad guys. Not good at all. Joe needed to think. He could feel his kit bag on his back. He remembered he had been on his back when he'd first woken, seconds after the crash. His bag must have absorbed some of the impact. Hopefully some of his kit would have survived. He looked over at Frank again. No kit bag. His had been lost somewhere along the way.

Joe made himself sit up. His muscles were screaming. For the first time, he allowed himself to look at his arm. His wrist was swollen and discoloured. He decided it couldn't be broken. Just a sprain. It would feel better if he strapped it up.

He took the bag off his back and dropped it in front of him. He fumbled at the fasteners, finally getting in. 'Ok. Hunting knife, GPS, satellite tracker, radio, survival blanket, first aid kit, water, protein bars. Not bad.' He looked more closely at the satellite tracker, realising the screen was smashed. He tried switching it on. Nothing happened. 'Ok, one _broken _satellite tracker. Of all the things to break!' The tracker was the device that allowed Network control to monitor exactly where they were. With it broken, any potential rescue mission wouldn't be able to locate them.

Did he still have a gun? His rifle was gone, who knew where. He grabbed at his gun belt in sudden panic. Yes. Thank goodness! His handgun was there. Extra ammunition? Gone. Great. He had 6 rounds. That was it. What about Frank? Joe looked back over at his prostrate brother. No gun. Just great.

What now? Joe looked down at himself. His shirt was soaked in blood where Frank's head had been resting against it. He needed to patch Frank up, make sure the bleeding had stopped. But they needed somewhere to hide. That had to come first. It was starting to get dark and it would be cold in the forest at night.

Joe looked around him. The forest was relatively open here, the vegetation between the trees sparse- more of a dirt floor under the forest canopy. He spied a fallen tree. It had a thick trunk and some large branches. If they holed up in the corner where one of the branches joined the tree and he pulled another branch over to make a triangular enclosure they would at least be screened to an extent. Easily found by someone close by but not easy to spot from a way off.

Too weak by now to lift Frank again, Joe dragged him over to the tree, his wrist protesting at the effort, and picked a niche against the thickest branch. He then found the biggest branch he could move and hauled it over to the corner, completing the little hide. He then retraced his steps, scattering loose leaf litter as best he could over the various drag marks he'd made. He stood back to survey his work. It left a lot to be desired. It would have to do.

His energy failing fast, Joe hauled himself over the branch into the little enclosure and flopped down beside Frank.

'Not bad, eh Frank? You always said I could make something out of nothing…'

Frank remained silent, concentrating on being unconscious and bleeding a bit.

'Oh well, I thought it was funny.'

Groaning, Joe pushed himself on to his knees and opened his bag again. He pulled out the first aid kit, the water and the survival blanket. The first aid kit was in a waterproof bag. He unsealed it and opened it up. Frank had packed everyone's personal kit. It looked like he'd done a good job. Joe pulled out antiseptic wipes, butterfly stitches, a sterile pad and a bandage. Very gently and carefully, he cleaned Frank's wound, getting every last grain of dirt out of it. He pulled the edges of skin together and laid the sticky butterfly stitches neatly over the top, then bandaged the pad on over the wound. He sat back and admired his handiwork. 'Not bad, not bad at all. You'll be impressed with that when you see it, big bro.'

No sooner were the words out of his mouth when he felt a lump forming in his throat. He was kidding himself. He had no idea if Frank was going to wake up. Ever. All their team mates were dead. And their tracker was broken- no one would be able to find them. He might watch Frank die out here, fading away for want of a hospital. Suddenly overcome with exhaustion and hopelessness, Joe sobbed. But he caught himself. He had to keep going. Frank would be fine. He _had _to be fine.

Joe hastily strapped up his own wrist. A sprain. Rest, ice, compress, elevate. That's what you do. Not much chance of the ice. He'd already compressed it with his bandaging. Time to work on 'rest' and 'elevate'. Joe opened up the survival blanket and covered them both with it to protect them from the cool night air. He opened the water bottle and wet some cotton wool then squeezed it gently on the inside of Frank's lips. He couldn't risk choking him but he needed water. Finally, he took a small drink himself and ate a protein bar before succumbing to his exhaustion. He fell asleep, left arm propped up awkwardly against the tree to help his wrist, right arm wrapped around Frank to keep him warm. His gun was by his head. If they came during the long, dark night, he would be ready….


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3- THE HUNT

Early the next morning Joe was awoken by the noise of an engine. Instantly alert, he got to his knees silently, picking up his gun. It was the Landrover! There were three men armed with rifles in it. It ground to a halt a short distance away, the engine stopping. Joe listened, holding his breath.

'He _must _have come this way. The tracks were clear enough back there. The ground's just that bit harder along here.'

'Radio Spellman. We'll get the dogs over this way. They'll find him.'

'OK. Let's try over that way. We'll have a good view from the ridge. Then we'll go for the dogs.'

The engine started again.

Joe lifted his head and the barrel of his gun hesitantly over the top of the tree trunk. Should he try to pick the men off with his remaining bullets and steal the vehicle? Could he do something that cold-blooded? Maybe, he wasn't sure. But the odds would be stacked against him, he reasoned- three clear kill shots before they could get in any sort of retaliation would be a tall order. He watched the vehicle disappearing through the trees. But now they had a problem.

'Dogs. Frank, that is really not good. We have to move.' He whispered.

He sat in front of his brother and gently tapped his face. He was still out cold. Fear gripped Joe- would those brown eyes ever open again? 'Frank? This would be a really good time to wake up… Please?' He raised his voice a little. Frank! Breakfast time! You want a cup of coffee? Bacon? Waffles? The newspaper? Oh look, Callie's taken all her clothes off!' Nothing. Joe sighed and shut his eyes. 'OK. If you want to sleep in again I'll just have to keep carrying you. This is getting to be a habit. You need to lay off the donuts if you're planning this type of thing- you are _not light._'

Joe chuckled. There was an outside possibility that he was going a teeny bit mad. He could imagine Frank giving him a 'What am I related to?' look if he were able. Not to worry. He gave Frank a few more squeezes of water then ate a protein bar.

'Right Frank, here we go.' Joe got to his feet, praying his body was still working. Everything hurt. He had cramp in every muscle. He felt like he'd been run over by a bus. Or like he'd been in a helicopter crash and an explosion then run through a forest carrying a large man for a few hours. At least his wrist was more numb than painful this morning. The compression was doing its work.

Groaning, he moved the branch out of the way and packed up his bag, stuffing as many things as he could into his trouser pockets so he could access them without putting Frank down. Job done, he gritted his teeth, kneeled down and hauled Frank onto his back again, then struggled back onto his feet.

He set off at a slow jog, heading the opposite way from the Landrover. Once he felt he had a bit of ground between them he allowed himself to slow down and think. There were dogs coming. He needed to find water to go through- that tactic always seemed to work in the movies…. He also needed to find more water for them to drink.

He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out his GPS handset. It was a good one with a screen displaying a map to show where they were. He set it to plot their route as they went so he wouldn't end up going in circles when he got tired. Where he was heading in the bigger scheme of things he wasn't sure. The area of forest was vast. No nearby towns, no proper roads for around 250 miles. Just trees and baddies. But water, he should be able to find. If they could keep away from the dogs and lay low long enough for the men to stop hunting for them, he was sure they could make it out. It just might take a while.

He spotted a river on the map, about 5 miles north of where they were. 'That'll do nicely. Nice day for a swim, Frank? Well, a float maybe.' Maybe being immersed in water would help bring Frank round. The thought spurred Joe back into a jog.

Joe had got to within about a mile of the river when he heard the dogs. 'Oh shit, oh _shit!_' he exclaimed. They were in trouble! He tried to run faster but the undergrowth had become thicker and he tripped, landing hard on the ground. 'Shit shit shit!' He stood and tried to lift Frank again but all of a sudden his injured arm just wouldn't co-operate. Desperation threatened to overwhelm him and he growled in frustration.

Joe thought fast. He dragged Frank to the base of a tree and laid him in the recovery position. He put the survival blanket over him and placed the rucksack and the bottle of water beside him, then covered him with branches and leaves. He got out his GPS and marked a waypoint exactly where they were so he could find Frank again. Then he turned and ran back towards the noise of the barking dogs.

…

Joe ran towards the dogs for as long as he dared. Then he turned and ran downhill, towards the river again, slipping and sliding to make sure he left clear tracks. He hoped beyond hope that the dogs and men would follow his obvious trail and not keep going towards Frank. And now, without Frank's weight on his back, Joe found he could run, fast! He headed for the river, praying he could make it, lose the men who were hunting him and cut back up the hill to Frank. But the dogs were close now, he could hear them baying and hear men shouting. They were hot on his trail! Fear and adrenaline coursed through him, pushing him ever faster. He could see the river ahead! Glancing behind him, he could see movement in the trees. Another moment and they would be able to see him! His legs were felt like they were going to fail him. An image came to him of Frank waking up alone under that tree, not knowing what had happened to Joe and surrounded by bad men. He put on a final burst of speed and threw himself in the water, bullets whistling by him.

It was deep! A lot deeper than he had expected. He swam underwater against the current, heading up river…..towards Frank. He swam until he thought his lungs would burst. He needed to breathe! He swam between some clumps of water weed, right to the edge of the river bank. Slowly, carefully, he raised his face above the water, feet just touching the riverbed.

The men had reached the river. They must have seen him jump in. He had swum a surprising distance under the water, but they were still close. Too close. They were shouting, arguing amongst themselves over what to do.

'Did we hit him?'

'I don't see him. Did he make it over?'

'No, he'll go along in the river. He'll have heard the dogs'

'We should cross.'

'You cross! There's bloody big catfish in there. They'll take a chunk out of you if you stand on one.'

Joe's eyes opened wide at that. He'd been so concerned with getting away from the men he hadn't stopped to think about nature's predators. He couldn't afford to panic. He stayed as still as he could, face concealed by weed, body underwater.

'OK we need to split up. He'll go across or downstream. He wouldn't go against the current. He must be exhausted. Come on, we can go down to the bridge.'

'Right. But just to be sure he didn't go upstream….' A shot rang out. Followed by a volley of shots. They were shooting in the river in his direction. He had no cover! Weed wouldn't stop a bullet! Joe held his nerve and stayed still, praying he'd get lucky. He did. Right up until the last bullet. Joe went under, legs buckling as the bullet hit his body.


	4. Chapter 4

WARNING- gory bits...

HUNTED!

CHAPTER 4- FIGHT TO SURVIVE

Everything was black. His head _hurt_. Frank Hardy blinked in pain and confusion. Where was he? He tried to put out a hand, to feel in the darkness. His body didn't want to co-operate. 'Joe?' he managed to rasp. Then the darkness closed in around his mind again.

…..

Joe hauled himself out of the river, clawing his way up the riverbank with one shaking hand after another. His eyes were screwed shut. He had no idea if he was clawing his way up to land at someone's feet. He just knew he had to or he would pass out and drown.

When he was far enough up that he felt like he wouldn't slide straight back in if he relaxed his hands, he stopped. He lay, face down, wishing the world would stop spinning. He knew he was badly hurt. The bullet had gone into his chest. That was always a bad sign. But he was still alive! It couldn't have hit his heart. He could breathe OK. It couldn't have hit his lungs. If it wasn't for the paralysing pain he'd be feeling pretty lucky all things considered.

He had to get to Frank! He had to save Frank! He tried to push himself up onto his hands and knees. He managed to get one knee under himself, then turned to jelly. He sagged, rolling onto his back. Waves of agony coursed through him. He moved his left hand, trying to feel where he was hit. Upper chest, far right. A bit further up and it could just have been his shoulder. That might have been better, he thought idly. Had the bullet come out of his back, or was it still in him, he wondered. Oh for a mirror. How was he going to get to Frank? He was weakening. He could feel consciousness ebbing away from him. He glanced down at the wound. It was gushing blood at a terrifying rate. He needed to stop the bleeding or he would die where he lay.

Joe squeezed his eyes shut. 'Oh no, not the tampon. Anything but the tampon.' He murmured. Did he have the first aid kit or was it in the rucksack? Joe lifted his left knee and patted the thigh pocket of his combat trousers. He had it. He pulled it out and fumbled with the waterproof seal. And there inside, neatly packed by Frank, were three tampons.

Joe felt tears pricking his eyes. He was scared. He so did not want to do this! He felt around him and found himself a stick to bite on. Then he pulled out a tampon, peeled off the sterile wrapper and placed the point against his wound. He took a deep breath and then pushed hard with the heel of his left hand. Incomprehensible pain hit him. He passed out.

…..

Frank could hear something. Was he awake? A bird was singing. He wished it wouldn't, it was really making his head hurt. He put his hand up to his forehead and felt the bandage. What had happened? He felt around with his hand. Was he in a bed? No. He felt leaves, damp earth. A water bottle. Someone must be looking after him, wherever he was. Joe? Feeling strangely comforted, he let himself drift off again.

…

Joe awoke to white hot agony. His chest was on fire. He sobbed then gagged and vomited. He looked down at his chest. It wasn't a nice sight by any stretch of the imagination. But the blood flow had virtually stopped. It had worked!

He had to get to Frank. Could he move? He experimented, first seeing if he could get his laboured breathing under control. Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth, inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth. He tried to establish some sort of rhythm. OK, that was a start. Arms? Could he move them? Left arm- yes! Right arm? He had second thoughts about trying- his shoulder muscles were just a bit too close to the source of the screaming pain in his chest. 'OK,' thought Joe 'if I roll onto my left side and push myself up with my left arm, maybe I can stand.'

Keeping the breathing going, Joe tried his rolling plan. The rolling bit seemed not too bad. The pushing up bit was harder- especially as his left wrist was the one with the sprain. Tears of frustration running down his cheeks, Joe persevered. And he managed! Somehow, he got his feet under himself and took a couple of shaky steps in what he hoped was the right direction. He fumbled for his GPS, expecting it to be broken. It was meant to be waterproof, but that had been testing it to extremes!

It was working! He could see where he was and where Frank was. It was about a 1 mile walk. He had just run that in no time. But now it sounded like 1000 miles. Wobbly, nauseous, and in the worst pain he could remember, Joe started staggering drunkenly towards his brother.

…..

Frank had woken up again. He was still struggling to remember what had happened and certainly had no idea why he was under a pile of leaves. He reached out for the bottle, hoping for a drink of water. The bottle seemed inexplicably heavy. He couldn't quite manage. He'd have to wait for help. He was starting to feel worried about Joe. Generally, if Frank found himself in this sort of predicament, Joe would be up to his neck in it as well. At that, he heard footsteps. Slow, stumbling footsteps. 'Joe?' he whispered, cautiously.

'Frank?' came the reply 'Oh thank God.' Joe's voice sounded strained and upset.

Then the branches were being moved. Frank blinked at the light then looked up, expecting to see Joe's smiling face. It wasn't there. He looked around, confused. Joe was on the ground, on his back, a couple of metres away.

'Joe? You OK?'

'Yeah. Tired.' Frank sagged back down, relieved. His eyes were protesting at the light. He closed them.

'What happened?'

'Helicopter crash. Explosion. Bad guys hunting us with dogs. Usual.'

'Shit! Can you pass the water?'

There was a pause. 'Sure.'

Frank relaxed, feeling safe now Joe was with him. He heard Joe struggling back to his feet, moaning in pain. He must be exhausted. The next moment, the water bottle was at his lips.

'Painkillers. Here.' Joe muttered. The first aid kit was dumped unceremoniously on Frank's lap. Frank opened his eyes again. Joe was sitting beside him, body turned slightly away from him, leaning against the tree. Frank could see his face in profile. It was white and soaked with sweat.

Frank tried to keep his eyes open but it hurt too much and he gave up. 'You sure you're OK?'

'Yeah. I'm really sorry, Frank' said Joe. Frank missed the stray tear sliding down Joe's cheek. He fiddled with the blister pack of pills then stuck three in his mouth. He felt the bottle come back to his lips. He swallowed.

'It's OK, I can do it.' said Frank, misunderstanding the reason for the apology. 'So catch me up. What's the plan?'

There was no answer. Frank forced his eyes open again. It looked like Joe had fallen asleep. Smiling, Frank moved the survival blanket over so it was covering both of them. He noticed Joe was wet. He was too tired to process the information. He went back to sleep.

…

Frank awoke at first light. He felt stronger today. More aware. He was starting to remember things. The mission. They boys they had set out to save. He remembered them jumping in a helicopter and it taking off. He'd felt a moment of triumph. Where had it all gone wrong? Joe had said there had been a helicopter crash and an explosion. But where was everyone else? And where were he and Joe?

'Joe' he whispered. 'Joe.'

He poked his brother. He felt hot. Very hot.

'Joe?'

Frank sat up, head protesting at the new movement. Something was wrong. His brother was curled up on his left side, facing away from Frank. Frank leant over him, trying to see his face. The first thing he saw was the front of his brother's shirt. It was soaked with blood. He pulled Joe's shirt open and gasped.

'Joe!' exclaimed Frank, panicking. He turned Joe right over onto his back, feeling like the bottom had just fallen out of his world.

Joe was unconscious. He had been shot. In the chest. He'd plugged it. _Himself_. Joe's face was flushed. He was hot. He was sick. Frank felt around his back. No exit wound. The bullet was still in him. He looked more closely at Joe's wound. The area was tight and angry looking. A little pus oozed from around the edge of the plug. It was infected.

'Shit, _shit. _Why didn't you say something, Joe!'

Hands shaking, he dug about in the rucksack looking for the first aid kit. Then he remembered Joe had passed it to him the night before. He grabbed for it, accidentally knocking it over and spilling the contents in his haste. He was sure he'd packed a dose of antibiotics in all the kits. He couldn't see them! He started fumbling about on the forest floor. A syringe! That was what he was looking for. He attached a needle from a sterile packet and then stuck it in to Joe's arm. He would need a hell of a lot more than that, but at least it was something.

Frank felt sick. Joe must have been bleeding badly to have plugged the wound himself. It must have been excruciating. Frank blocked out the image conjured in his mind. He had to keep his head. He had to be the medic not the brother.

Making himself breathe deeply, he looked clinically at the problem in front of him. The tampon was meant to be a temporary measure, not left in for hours at a time. Presumably if there was a handy nearby hospital, Frank wouldn't have found himself under a pile of leaves with a head injury! Frank knew he was going to have to deal with it himself. He would have to try to clean the wound properly. He had to try to get the infection under control if there was going to be any hope of Joe surviving to be rescued. But he would have to take out the plug to do it. Could he stop Joe bleeding out? He would have to do his best. He had the training. He had to use it- Joe's life depended on it!

Wasting no time, he laid out the survival blanket beside Joe to give himself a relatively clean area to work. He moved the contents of the first aid kit on to it. He took off his belt and folded it over, then gently placed it between Joe's teeth so he wouldn't bite his tongue. He prayed Joe would remain unconscious for the next few minutes. He put a set of sterile gloves on and tucked a pack of cotton wool between his knees.

Clenching his jaw and steeling his nerve, Frank took hold of the end of the tampon with his fingers and pulled. It came out, accompanied by a mass of clotted blood and pus. The smell was foul. A gush of fresh blood followed the clot and Frank pressed a handful of cotton wool over the wound, hard.

Joe moaned and lifted his head, then sagged back down. Frank watched him anxiously- was he going to come round? His eyes remained shut.

Frank picked up the bottle of saline solution. He lifted the cotton wool off the wound, just for a second, and squirted the solution in hard, allowing the blood flow to wash it out again, hopefully accompanied by the dirt and bacteria that were causing the problem. He then put the pressure back on. Did he dare try to get the bullet out? If he didn't, and rescue wasn't forthcoming, he might have to repeat this process sooner than he would have liked. He would have to try. He picked up the tweezers, which were sealed in a sterile pack, and took them out. 'I'm so sorry, Joe.' he said, heartsick at the thought of what he had to do but thanking God he was still out of it.

Frank took the pressure off the wound one more time and, fear cramping his guts, pushed the tweezers into it as gently as he could.

Joe's eyes opened! He tried to sit up, moaning in pain.

Frank looked up at his face, aghast. He must be in agony! 'Shit! Try to keep still, Joe, please! I'll be as fast as I can!'

Joe sagged back down and Frank moved himself round a little, so he could lean on Joe's right shoulder, pinning him down to limit his movement. Joe's breaths came in great sobs and Frank fought to keep his nerve. This was like something out of a nightmare. Frank pushed the tweezers in further, trying to control his trembling fingers. Then caught his breath as they hit something solid. The bullet! His fingers had been squeezing the blades together and now he relaxed them, allowing the instrument to fall open so he could grasp the bullet. Joe was now shaking violently. Praying, Frank squeezed the tweezers again and felt them grasp the bullet. He pulled slowly, easing it out. 'I got it Joe!'

The blood was pouring out of the wound now. Frank squirted the last of the saline solution into it as hard as he could, trying to dislodge grime from every bit of the hole. He watched it run out with Joe's blood, then pulled out more cotton wool to reapply the pressure. He shut his eyes. He was going to have to plug it again. He turned to look at Joe's face. His eyes were shut again. Had he passed out? Frank sat up straight, keeping the pressure on the wound but releasing Joe's shoulder. He reached for a tampon, tore open the seal with his teeth and moved it up to the wound. He silently counted to three, psyching himself up for the stomach-turning job. Then Joe's eyes opened again. He looked at Frank, looked at what was in his hand. Frank froze in horror. Would he have to restrain Joe again to do this?

Joe looked right into his eyes. He nodded. His silent message- _Go for it. _

Astonished at Joe's courage, and fighting tears, Frank did as he was told. Grimacing, he pushed the tampon into the wound as far as he could get it. With the bullet out of the way, it went in all the way. Joe's back arched in agony. He cried out.

'Sorry Joe, I'm so sorry. It's over. It's done. You still with me?' Frank's voice was shaking with emotion.

Joe's eyes were still open but now unfocused. His breathing was ragged.

Frank opened a pack of antiseptic wipes and cleaned carefully around the wound then got out a sterile dressing and secured it over the wound with strips of micropore tape. Then, arms and legs trembling in reaction to what he'd just done, Frank sank down by Joe's head. He reached over and touched his cheek. 'It's OK Joe, it's finished. You're OK.' There was no response. Joe's eyes stared blankly into the distance.

Frank's composure was disintegrating rapidly now his task was complete. 'Joe, please, can you hear me?' he sobbed. 'Joe? Please be OK. Please!' There was no response. Guilt and uncertainty plagued Frank. Had he done the right thing? Had he given Joe a chance? Or had the shock and extra blood loss been too much, had he just given his brother a death sentence?


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5- RUNNING ON EMPTY

Joe could hear something. Someone was sobbing. He wondered why. Then he realised it was Frank! He remembered- Frank had been hurt. His tried to speak, to comfort him, but he felt strange. Like a passenger in his own body. He couldn't move. Slowly, he felt his body start to reconnect to his mind. Then the pain hit him again. He cried out in anguish.

'Joe? Can you hear me?' he heard Frank's voice. He felt someone gently stroking his forehead and cheek. He tried to focus, to see his brother's face. He moved his lips but no sound came out.

'Joe. Don't try to move. I'll find us a way out of this.'

Joe thought hard. A memory slipped into his grasp. He tried to make his mouth work again. 'GPS' he managed to whisper.

He felt Frank going through his pockets. 'Got it Joe.'

Joe finally managed to focus on Frank's eyes. Frank looked awful. Joe could see he was just holding himself together. He looked….concerned? No, distraught. Tired, scared and distraught. Joe had to make things right for him, to save him. He would be captured if he stayed here. 'Go.' He rasped.

Frank's face moved closer to his. He felt a hand on each side of his cheek. 'Not an option Joe. We're _both _getting out of here. You hear me? Now let me worry about how.' His voice wavered as he spoke.

Joe shut his eyes. 'Not gonna make it. Go.'

'Don't you _dare _give up, Joe. Vanessa will kill me if I come back without you! You concentrate on breathing. That's your job. In and out. Keep it going. DO NOT stop. Got it? Here, take these. '

Joe felt his head being raised gently and pills being popped in his mouth, followed by a little water. He swallowed, then looked up at Frank's anxious eyes again. He needed to tell him what had happened. He wouldn't know. He was working blind.

'Team are dead.'

'What? Both teams?'

Joe shook his head.

Frank spoke again. 'Blue team. The helicopter crash. You sure?' Frank was guessing to help him out. Joe nodded. Franks eyes shut again, feeling the news like a kick in the gut. 'Right. Is help coming?'

'Sat tracker….. broken. No one on radio.'

'What was your plan? Were you heading somewhere?'

'Just away… And went to river… To lose dogs… Get them away from you.'

'That's why you were wet last night. Was that when you got shot?' Frank's tone was gentle.

'Yeah. Least…..catfish didn't get me.' Joe said, trying to smile.

Apparently appreciating the effort at humour, Frank smiled back. 'True. And did you lose the dogs?'

'Yeah…. Will be back… You go.'

'No. Right, I'm going to try to mend the satellite tracker. Your arm OK? No other bullet holes you've not mentioned are there?'

'Sprain. Frank?'

'Yeah?'

'I'm sorry….. I really screwed up.' A tear ran down Joe's cheek again. Frank didn't miss this one.

Frank put a hand each side of Joe's face again and looked right into his eyes. 'No. You've risked your life to save me and it worked. Look, I'm here, see? Alive! Now it's my turn. I'm going to save you. That's how it works, you know that, Joe.'

Joe smiled weakly, then clenched his jaw as an intense spasm of pain hit him. His eyes rolled back in his head as he passed out.

'Joe!' Frank shook his brother's left shoulder gently. 'Please, Joe, try to stay with me. C'mon little brother, let me see those eyes of yours.' He pleaded. But Joe was out cold.

…..

Frank sat staring at Joe's face. He knew had to pull himself together and start working. He had to save him.

He picked up the GPS handset and switched on the display. Zooming right out, he recognised the property their raid had targeted. It was 20 miles away. _20 miles. _Had Joe really carried him for 20 miles?

He could see the route Joe had taken for the latter part of the journey to their current location, and the way Joe had gone away from here to the river and back when he was drawing the dogs away from Frank. He felt a lump in his throat again- Joe had apologised to him for screwing up! The proof of Joe's strength and resourcefulness was here in front of him. He hoped he would get the opportunity to wave it in his face.

Frank dug around in the rucksack until he found the satellite tracker. If he couldn't fix this, Joe would die. Simple as that. He took his penknife out of his pocket, pulling out the screwdriver attachment. He began to take the smashed instrument apart.

It was about the size of a watch, with four buttons on the face; ON, MESSAGE, ASSIST and HOME.

The 'message' function was pre-set- you couldn't change it. If you pressed it once it would transmit 'SETTING OFF', twice would send the message 'HEADING HOME'. It was a status update, rather than a straightforward communication device. HOME you activated when you were safe so the monitoring staff knew they could go home for their dinner. ASSIST would be more appropriate. It meant 'Help, now!'

But the most important thing was the get the device working. If it was on, it would transmit their location to Network control every ten minutes irrespective of which buttons were pressed. They could be found, assuming a rescue was planned. He sat back against the tree, trying to trace the wires inside the tracker to see what needed fixed. The screen and the four buttons all needed reconnected to the unit inside. He doubted the screen would work and settled for trying to re-attach the ASSIST button. Frank looked at the main unit. He couldn't see any obvious damage. Could it be working? It was impossible to tell with the LED lights on the screen being beyond repair. A tiny flicker of hope sparked into life. Maybe they already knew where they were. Taking a deep breath, he pressed ASSIST. He looked up, as though a helicopter might magically appear. Nothing. It was a bit much to ask.

What next? He needed to get them away from here. Joe had said the men who were hunting them would be back. They needed to keep moving and they needed to find somewhere open where a rescue helicopter could land. His head jerked up as he heard a bark in the distance. They were coming!

….

Frank's breath burned in his throat as he ran through the trees. Joe's inert form was across his back. He had hoped to build something to drag him on to try to keep him as stable as possible. He hadn't had time to assemble anything to do it with. He was making for the river, further upstream than Joe had gone yesterday, hopefully further away from the hunting party. He would have to try to do what Joe had managed the previous day and shake the dogs off. He could still hear them in the distance. He could also hear water ahead. But he knew he couldn't be at the river yet.

It was a stream. It rushed, sparkling and clear, towards the river below far below them. It was fairly wide but only about knee deep. Frank stood still, assessing his options. If they followed his trail to this point and it stopped, they would know he had gone either up or down the stream. If he went a short way along it then cut back onto land, the trail would be easily found again- dogs would be able to bound to and fro across the stream without even thinking about it. Had had to stick to his original plan and cross the river. He glanced up the hill. There was a steep section of stream bed rising up a short distance away. He could see white water- a short section of rapids. Anyone walking that way would have to come out of the water to negotiate it safely. That gave him an idea. He gently laid Joe down on the ground by the stream, pausing to check his breathing and pulse. He was still out cold. Frank's back was sticky with Joe's blood. Frank checked the wound quickly. Blood was oozing rather than gushing. It would have to do.

Frank paused to re-fill their water bottle. Then, taking a last look at Joe, he turned and ran as fast as he could into the water, splashing up the hill against the current. When he came to the steep section, he climbed out of the stream, onto the bank. He ran up alongside the stream then plunged back into it when it became easier to negotiate again. Then he turned and headed back down the stream, staying in it this time, slipping and sliding down the treacherous section. He felt the rocks grazing and slicing his skin. He pressed on, splashing his way back to Joe. On reaching him, he lifted him back onto his shoulders and began to splash his way downstream towards the river. If the dogs did their job, they would find his false trail a short way upstream and draw the men that way. If not… Frank adjusted his grip on Joe and pushed on. Failure was not an option.

….

Frank's strength was failing. He hadn't eaten for nearly a day. His head ached. He gritted his teeth and pressed on. He could hear the river ahead of them. If he could cross it and find some cover he hoped they could rest. Concern for Joe was virtually crippling his mind. He thought he was still unconscious, but every now and then he moaned in pain. He should be in hospital full of drugs, not draped around his brother's neck on a destination-free hike through the badlands of Eastern Europe.

The stream was getting deeper- it was halfway up his thighs now. The water rushed hard against on the back of his legs and he had to work to keep his balance. He looked ahead of them- there was the river! The river looked deep and wide, but it was relatively slow-moving. How would they cross? He looked up and down its course. No stones to balance on. No handy boat. He would have to swim. Frank crouched down a little, easing Joe down into the water feet first. He supported Joe's weight, keeping him upright, then manoeuvred him round so he was in front of him, facing away from him. He put one arm around Joe's chest, all too aware he was pressing on his injury. He would have to make this quick.

He lowered them both down into the water, letting it carry some of Joe's weight. Then he started pushing backwards with his feet, trying to keep them afloat with his free hand. They hit the river and suddenly he couldn't touch the bottom any more. The current began to sweep them slowly downstream. He swam backwards, Joe's head supported out of the water on his chest.

Frank kept glancing backwards, trying to see how far he had to still had to go.

Joe began to stir, the shock of the cold water bringing him round. He moaned and tried to roll over.

'Keep still Joe' spluttered Frank, trying to keep them above water. 'Relax- we're nearly there!'

Joe did as he was told.

With a last push, Frank got them to the opposite side, landing at a stony patch of riverbank with a relatively shallow incline. He found his footing and dragged Joe the last few metres, gasping for breath, Joe crying out in pain at the pressure on his chest.

Frank heard a distant gunshot. 'Shit!' They couldn't stop. He had to find cover. He knelt down and hauled Joe back over his back.

Joe hadn't experienced that move while conscious before. Renewed pain and nausea hit him. 'Frank…..please….stop…hurts.' he moaned.

'In a minute' gasped Frank.

'Please!' Joe started to gag.

Energy depleted, Frank gave in to his brother. He staggered to the nearest tree and half kneeled, half collapsed behind it. He lowered Joe down gently onto his knees and held him as he vomited, then eased him onto his back away from the mess and flopped down beside him, panting hard and unable to speak. Closing his eyes, he prayed that his attempts to lose the men who hunted them had been worth it. He worked through it in his head, trying to spot any mistakes he might have made. The potential weakness in the plan was the exit from the river. If the riverbank had been muddy, they would have left obvious tracks. They had lucked out and come out on stone. Until the men decided to search this side of the river, which they no doubt eventually would, they might get some breathing space. They might even get away!

His breathing coming under control, Frank got back on his knees and turned his attention to Joe. 'Joe? You OK?' he said, putting a hand on his cheek and gently turning his face towards him. 'Joe?' He didn't look OK. Joe was shivering violently, his eyes closed tight. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth and Frank gasped. Was he bleeding internally into his lungs? Frank tried to shut out the terrified brother side of his mind again and think as a medic.

'Let me see in your mouth, Joe.'

Joe didn't resist as Frank gently prized his mouth open to peer inside. Frank exhaled in relief. He'd bitten his tongue. He checked Joe's vitals. Pulse- fast but strong. Temperature- down markedly. The river had no doubt helped with that. He opened Joe's shirt and pulled back the dressing over his wound. It didn't look quite as angry as it had. For all Joe was in agony and still dangerously ill, he seemed to be improving slightly. If only Frank had packed more than one dose of antibiotics in each kit. He would _not _be making that mistake again! He pulled the first aid kit out of the sopping wet rucksack and gently cleaned around the wound. He would have to think about changing that plug again later. That was not a prospect he relished!

'Here, drink some water.' He raised Joe's head gently and put the bottle to his lips. Joe drank a little, then gagged again.

'Easy, try to keep it down.' Said Frank anxiously.

'C-cold' shivered Joe, just barely conscious.

'Me too.' Frank admitted. He pulled the survival blanket out of the rucksack. It was wet but it was waterproof- he could shake the water off. He stood up ready to do just that. Then he heard an engine. 'Oh, _no_! They're coming!' he exclaimed, throwing himself flat on the ground again. He looked around them slowly. The forest floor was scrubby here. If they stayed flat down and made no noise might not be noticed.

He could see the Landrover driving slowly along the opposite bank of the river, four men inside. They were peering around carefully, obviously looking for any signs of the Hardys. One looked constantly at the riverbanks. Thank goodness they had come out at the stony section! Just before the vehicle pulled level with them, it stopped. The engine was turned off. Frank's heart sank. Had they been spotted?

He risked raising his head slightly. The men had got out. But they hadn't been seen- they weren't trying to cross the river- they had stopped to smoke! He tried to listen to what they were saying, catching snatches of conversation.

'…can't hide forever…. McGill's gonna cut a new bit of him off every day…' There was laughter at that.

At that moment, Joe stirred. Knowing the pain he was in, Frank put his hand over Joe's mouth to keep him quiet, hoping he wouldn't panic and fight him.

Joe didn't. He trusted Frank completely and understood instantly what was going on. He endured the waves of pain and nausea in silence.

More words drifted across the river '...radioed…trail upstream….' The men got into the vehicle and drove on, turning away from the river. Frank grinned. His plan had worked!

Frank got back up and put the survival blanket over Joe. 'I think I've bought us a bit of time, Joe. Ten minutes rest, OK?'

Joe didn't reply. He was still shivering. Dry clothes and a fire would have been good but neither was an option. Frank climbed under the blanket with Joe. He slid one arm under his head and slung the other around his waist, cuddling him to share body warmth. And because he wanted to. He allowed the medic side of his mind to relax- the terrified brother part took over and wanted to be close to Joe, to comfort both of them. The fact Joe didn't make any smart comments was telling.

'You're going to be OK, little brother. I've got you. We're getting out of this.' Frank murmured in Joe's ear.

Joe's shivering gradually abated as they lay in silence, eyes closed.

'Frank? Sorry for….. for being such a deadweight.' Joe whispered suddenly.

'Stop apologising, Joe. You're not a deadweight. You've been shot. I'm not expecting you to climb trees for goodness sake.' Frank whispered back, eyes still shut.

'Frank?'

'Yeah?'

'Promise you won't laugh?'

'No, but try me.'

'I'm scared.'

Frank held Joe a little tighter. It was the last thing he would have expected Joe to admit to and the fact he had felt the need to voice it underlined how vulnerable his brother was feeling.

'Me too, Joe. This is pretty messy. But I think you're getting better not worse. If our luck holds and we don't get caught, I think we'll make it.'

'I can't believe I might not see Vanessa again.' There was a hitch to Joe's voice.

'You're going to see her. Think positive. Try to think about good things. What are you looking forward to?'

'Seeing Vanessa naked.' Joe smiled weakly.

Frank rolled his eyes. 'I think we'll take that as read. Keep it clean, little brother!'

'OK, seeing her smile. She's so beautiful.'

'She is. Not as beautiful as Callie, but she's up there.'

'_What. _Are you kidding me? Have you seen Vanessa? Callie's cute, sure, but Van is something else.'

Frank laughed. 'I suppose it's just as well we don't rate the same girl top- we might have killed each other by now.'

'Yeah. Frank it really hurts.' Frank opened his eyes. Joe's face was screwed up in pain again. Frank looked at his watch. 'You can have more painkillers in about half an hour.'

'Please Frank.'

'Joe, don't. You don't want liver damage on top of everything. I gave you more than the recommended dose already. Let's talk about something else.'

Joe took a sobbing breath. 'Frank… OK, sing to me then.'

Frank chuckled. 'Eh! Are you not in enough pain already?'

'Please.'

'Fine' Frank starting singing the first thing that came into his head. 'Jeremiah was a bullfrog. He was a good friend of mine. I never understand a single word he said, but I helped him drink his wine. Joooooooy to the world. To all the boys and girls.'

Joe half laughed, half choked. 'Enough, stop! Sing something I like.'

'Oh God, Joe, don't make me sing bloody alternative rock.'

'OK, sing me something Vanessa likes.'

'I know, how about a bit of ABBA?'

'Cheesy. Tacky. Perfect!'

Frank launched into a tuneless version of 'Dancing Queen', Vanessa's karaoke favourite. He smiled as Joe joined in a couple of times.

'Think I'll ever see Vanessa again?' said Joe afterwards.

'You better. You're my first patient, Joe. It will _not _look good if I don't get you home. Talking of which, we need a plan. I think there's a chance the sat tracker is working. I'm thinking we assume it is and assume they're coming back for us. We need to head for somewhere a helicopter can land. Good idea?

'And if it's not working and no one comes?'

'Then we'll have to borrow that Landrover.'

'Crossed my mind yesterday. I chickened out. Should have just tried to shoot them. Bloody idiot.'

'It's just not the way we usually work Joe. Maybe it never will be. It's one thing as part of an op, but something different entirely picking people off like that. We'll find a way. Right, I'm thinking we head for higher ground so we can get a view over a wide area to identify a good landing site.'

Frank gave Joe a last hug then sat up. He pulled a couple of protein bars out of the rucksack, offering one to Joe. Joe declined, stomach still protesting. Frank ate one while he played around with the GPS handset for a minute. 'OK, there's a raised area of ground 3 miles north of here. You up to it?'

'No. Let's do it. Help me walk.'

Frank looked at him critically. 'That's not going to work.'

'I did it yesterday. Let me try.' Frank shook his head. Against his better judgement, he helped Joe to his feet. Joe starting retching as soon as he straightened up. Frank held him up as he vomited again.

'Easy, easy!' said Frank.' It's not going to work Joe.'

'Shut up. Hold me up.' Joe's teeth were gritted together in determination. No way was Frank going to have to carry him when he was awake!

Frank got on Joe's left side and pulled his arm up over his shoulder, gripping Joe's hand. He put his other arm around Joe's waist. With Frank supporting most of his weight, Joe managed to take a few wobbly steps. 'You OK? asked Frank.

Joe didn't reply, but he kept stubbornly putting one foot in front of the other. Slowly, the brothers picked their way through the trees.

After a few minutes, Joe went down. He was out cold. Frank slung him over his shoulders and pressed on.


	6. Chapter 6

HUNTED!

CHAPTER 6- THE LAST STAND

Frank had glimpsed the raised ground ahead through the trees. He should be able to identify a break in the trees from up there. He climbed up through the trees, following the rising ground. As he neared the highest point, a gap opened up in the trees. There was a large clearing _on _the ridge. It was perfect.

Sticking to the edge of the trees where they had some cover, Frank found a small hollow and laid Joe gently down on the ground, dreading to see what condition he would be in. He had felt his brother's getting steadily hotter as he walked.

In the hour that had gone by since Joe had passed out he'd taken a dramatic turn for the worse again. He was soaked in sweat. His cheeks were flushed and his temperature had shot back up to a dangerous level. His pulse was weak and rapid. In the absence of more doses of antibiotics, infection had taken hold of him. Frank pulled Joe's shirt open. The wound didn't look any worse. Frank shut his eyes. There was a damn good chance the infection had got into Joe's bloodstream. They were in real trouble. He needed IV fluids and antibiotics, _now_, or his organs could start to fail. Joe really might die. Frank had never really believed it would happen. They always found a way out! But now...

Grief threatening to conquer him, Frank pulled out the tracker and pressed ASSIST again and again. He pulled his radio out of the bag. 'Blue 6 to Red leader, Blue 6 to Red leader, over? Urgent assistance required. Biff, please.' his voice broke with emotion. Nothing. The radio had probably been ruined by water if it had even been working after the crash.

Joe opened his eyes a crack. They looked glazed. 'Water' he croaked weakly.

Frank was beside him in a second. He pulled the bottle out of the bag. It was nearly empty again. He raised Joe's head and poured what little there was into his mouth. Then he realised he could _hear _water. It sounded close.

'Joe, I'll be right back. I'm getting you more water. Stay with me, okay. Remember, your job is to breathe.' He stroked Joe's cheek one last time, praying he wouldn't return to find he'd lost the fight for life.

…

Frank hurried in the direction of the sound of water flowing, empty bottle in hand. And he found the source- a spring, not 50 feet from the clearing. He bent down and filled the bottle, then stood up straight. He froze. He was staring right into the business end of a rifle! It was in the hands of a middle-aged man with a very angry face. Frank recognised him instantly. It was McGill! Frank raised his hands slowly, looking for a way out.

'Say your prayers, soldier boy.' Hissed the man. He took careful aim and….BANG. Frank stumbled backwards a step, gasping. He looked down at himself. He wasn't hit! What had happened?! At that, McGill crumpled at the knee and sunk to the ground, rifle clattering down on the rocks by the spring. His hat fell off, revealing a single bullet wound to his head on his hairline. He was stone dead. Frank looked round wildly. He couldn't see anyone. Grabbing the rifle and the water bottle, he turned and ran back towards Joe. As he got closer, his jaw dropped in astonishment. There was Joe, still lying flat on his back, but his left arm was raised. He was holding his handgun. Joe had killed McGill!

'Joe!' he exclaimed. He flopped down beside his injured brother. Joe's eyes were focused now, but he was shaking and his breath was coming in laboured gasps. He was going downhill fast.

'Saved you again.' Joe murmured, smiling weakly.

Frank smiled broadly at him. 'Thanks bro! I guess it must be back to my turn to save you.' Frank replied. 'Here's some more water'.

He supported Joe's head as he took another sip from the bottle.

'How you doing, Tiger?' said Frank gently.

Joe didn't answer straight away. Frank could see his jaw muscles clenching against the pain between gasps. 'Been better. Thanks though. For everything.'

'All we need is some antibiotics and we'll have you back on your feet in no time.'

Joe smiled. 'Not g- gonna happen, is it... You tried... Love you Frank... Tell Van….'

Frank cut him off, tears welling up in his eyes. 'Stop Joe, we're going to get out of this, OK? It's not over yet.'

'Tell her….. I love her. Tell her… to move on. OK?'

'Please Joe, please don't give up.'

Joe raised his voice. 'Promise me, Frank!'

'OK, I promise. But Joe, don't…'

Joe smiled again at his brother, the tension suddenly disappearing from his body. For a moment he looked deep into Frank's eyes, then his own blue eyes shut and his head rolled over to the side.

'Joe? JOE, NO!' Frank shook Joe. There was no response. He bent over him, watching his chest and feeling his neck. Nothing.

'You are NOT GOING TO DIE!' Frank yelled, no longer caring about keeping quiet.

Frank started CPR, tears running unchecked down his face. 2 breaths. 15 compressions. 2 breaths. 15 compressions. 2 breaths…..

He barely heard the sound of the helicopter as it landed behind them. He didn't register the men running towards them. He felt a hand on his shoulder and shrugged it off, completely focused on his task. 2 breaths. 15 compressions. 2 breaths. 15 compressions…

Then he saw Biff's face in front of his. 'Frank. You have to stop.'

'NO!' Frank screamed, 'he's NOT DEAD.' He shoved Biff away from him, hard, and turned back to Joe!

Biff grabbed Frank by the back of the shirt and hauled him back from Joe, turning him to face him. He shouted in his face 'He might as well be if you don't stand back and let them use the defibrillator!'

Finally Frank registered what was going on around him. They were being rescued! Two medics were trying to take over. They were trying to bring Joe back! He'd been bagged- they were breathing for him. They had attached wires to his chest and were watching the machine. The red light went on. Joe's heart was fibrillating- it wasn't too late, they might be able to save him! One pressed the SHOCK button. Joe jerked. They watched the machine. The red light went on again. It hadn't worked. The SHOCK button was pressed one more time. The green light went on. 'We've got him!' someone shouted. 'Load him up, let's go!'

Frank found his legs wouldn't work. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. He was half-carried towards the helicopter by Biff and another man. Joe had been loaded on to a stretcher and was carried alongside him. Frank found himself being thrown up into the helicopter. He watched, reality seeming dreamlike, as the medics kept working on Joe as they took off. They intubated him and helped him breathe. The put an IV in each of his arms and started filling him with fluids. They shouted instructions to each other and into their radios, to whoever was waiting to meet them. They fought to keep Joe going….


	7. Chapter 7

HUNTED!

CHAPTER 7- ONE LAST FIGHT

Frank sat, head in his hands. Biff sat beside him, leaning back against the wall. He had a hand on Frank's back, offering silent support.

The helicopter had flown them to a military field hospital. Joe had crashed again on the helicopter. They had got him back. He'd crashed again when they got to the field hospital. They got him back. Now he was in theatre. All they could do was wait.

Frank sobbed, breaking the silence. Biff rubbed his back.

'20 miles, Biff. He carried me 20 miles. Can you believe it?'

'He's tough, Frank. He's a fighter.' Biff tried to sound convincing. It hadn't looked good.

'What if I've killed him?'

'No way Frank. You saved him. He'll come out of it. You'll see. He's way too stubborn to die.'

'He was looking after me. _After _he'd been shot. Never even told me it had happened. He plugged it himself.'

'Oh Jesus!' said Biff, shaking his head in disbelief. 'Frank, stop, please. Stop beating yourself up. He'll make it. He always does.'

'What if he doesn't this time, Biff?'

Biff shook his head. It didn't bear thinking about.

At that moment, Billy, the Red Team medic who'd worked on Joe, appeared. 'Any news?'

Biff shook him head.

'Can I look at your head, Frank?' said Billy.

Frank looked up, confused. Then he put a hand up to the bandage on his head. He hadn't thought about it since discovering Joe's injury. 'Yeah. Sure.'

Billy gently removed Joe's bandage revealing the cut underneath.

'Neat job.' He remarked, admiring Joe's butterfly stitches.

'Can I see?' said Frank, curious to find out what was there.

'I'll find a mirror' said Billy. He left the room and reappeared with one after a minute.

Frank looked at Joe's careful work in the mirror. He pictured his brother running for mile after mile through the woods, carrying him, with baying dogs and men with rifles hunting them down. And, amid it all, Joe had taken the time to stop and do a neat job on his cut. Would he ever get to thank him properly? Tears fell down Frank's face again.

Billy re-dressed the injury then sat down beside Frank, a hand on his back. The three men waited.

…

Finally, Dr Miller, the surgeon in charge of operating on Joe, came through. He looked exhausted. Frank stood up and walked over to him. 'Is he…..?' Frank couldn't go on.

'He's alive.'

Frank closed his eyes in relief.

'We've patched up the bullet wound. You did well, Frank. It was pretty clean and the bleeding was well controlled. You saved him.'

Frank shook his head.

'He stopped the bleeding himself. I just tried to clean it up, pulled out the bullet.'

'Frank, without a doubt you slowed the progression of the infection. You bought him more time.'

Billy stepped in. 'Frank, if he'd crashed ten minutes earlier, we'd have lost him. For sure. You gave him that time.'

'Is he going to be OK?' said Frank, his voice tight and quiet.

'He has sepsis- a systemic inflammatory response caused by a severe reaction to infection. It could be he was exposed to something like dirty water. The bacteria really took hold, entering his bloodstream through the wound.' said Dr Miller.

'The river. I think he was in a river when he was shot.'

'That could explain it. His condition is serious. Life-threatening. All we can do is give him IV fluids and antibiotics. We're doing that. The rest is up to him.'

'Can I see him?'

The doctor nodded. 'Of course.'

Frank followed Dr Miller into the makeshift ward. There was Joe, lying on a low bed surrounded by machines. He was on a ventilator. Tubes went into him and came out of him. He looked smaller, younger and so much more vulnerable than the strapping, confident man Frank was used to.

Frank sat down beside him and picked up his hand. Dr Miller touched his shoulder then gave him some privacy.

'Joe?' Frank said quietly 'They've said it's up to you now. You've got to fight. One last time. Fight it. Please. For me. For Van. Please.'

The hissing and beeping of machines was the only reply.

…

Frank sat by his brother's bedside for two days. He slept on a blanket on the floor beside him. Doctors came and went. Biff and Billy came and went. Frank stayed. He didn't want to miss Joe wakening. Or his last breath.

On the third day, the medical staff told him Joe seemed stronger. They weaned him off the ventilator and he began to breathe on his own.

That night, Frank had fallen into a restless sleep. He was roused by a weak voice, rasping 'look….Callie's naked.'

Instantly awake, Frank launched himself at Joe's bedside, grabbing his hand. Tired, amused blue eyes looked at him.

'Joe! You're awake!' the relief threatened to overwhelm him. 'What is it with you and naked women?'

Joe smiled. 'Got your… attention' he whispered weakly.

'How do you feel? Shall I get the doctor?'

Joe reached out and grasped Frank's wrist. 'Are we alive?' His expression was earnest. He really wasn't sure.

Frank put a hand over Joe's, smiling. 'Yes! Both of us. Told you so.'

'How?' Joe looked completely confused.

'It was my turn to save you. That's how it works, remember? OK, that and the cavalry arrived in the nick of time. We owe Red Team _a lot _of beer by the way.'

'Frank?'

'Yes, Joe?'

'I never want …. to see another… tampon in my life.'


	8. Chapter 8

HUNTED!

EPILOGUE

Frank and Joe Hardy stood in the memorial ground, shoulder to shoulder with the members of Red Team. They all wore dark suits and dark glasses. They had come to honour the members of Blue Team who hadn't made it. They listened to family and friends saying kind words about the six dead men. They thought of the sheer luck that had prevented their names from being added to the list. As the service went on, Joe leaned slightly on Frank. Frank put a supportive arm around him. He had only been out of hospital for a few days and was still weak. But he had wanted to stand.

At the end of the service, Frank noticed the two teenage brothers who had been freed during the original operation standing together near the gates. The younger one, Sam, looked upset. The older one, Alan, had his arm around him. They weren't speaking, they were just together, supporting each other. Alan sensed he was being watched and looked straight at Frank. He nodded. One older brother to another. Frank nodded back. He tightened his hold on Joe, feeling he was tiring, and steered him towards the car. Life was hard. Brotherly love made it that bit easier.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Many thanks to my colleague NC (the former army medic) for his advice and his tales of alternate uses for tampons. He originally intended to gross out his team mates but instead inspired me to write this story….! (in other words he's getting at least half the blame...)

max2013- fast enough for you?!


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